🚀 Pipeline Results Report

Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,  If I court your quiet footsteps on the dew-wet grass,  If I hush the clamor of certainty for the hush of your breath,  Not snatched from rumor’s mouth, but gathered from the root.For truth, you slip in with sunrise, unburdened and brave,  You settle among sighs and the stillness of waiting,  You teach me to tend patience, to question the obvious,  To empty my cup for what cannot be hurried or claimed.I will listen to you in the spaces between,  In the flutter of doubt, in the ache of not knowing,  For only the ear that is gentle, unclenched and awake  Can shape lips to utter your name without trembling.So let my speech not be a shield, but a window thrown wide—  I will cradle your fragile, bright bone in my palm  And promise: When my tongue learns your music from silence,  Only then, Truth, shall I dare to speak you.

Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,  If I wake in the hush before dawn, when your footsteps ring true,  When silence is gentle and nothing is pressing my tongue—  You hover, a whisper unsung.  I braid you in memory, careful as wind through the reeds,  Attending your murmur that trembles beneath what I need.  If I train all my hearing to capture the pulse of your sound,  You’ll rise from the earth, unbound.  But habit is brittle; I wander in thickets of lies,  Sometimes trading your song for the easier lullabies,  Yet you wait, unadorned, in the hush I could choose—  Calling me, quietly, never to lose.  So let me listen, and listen again, till you fill  The corners of conscience, the valleys of heart and of will,  For only by tending the silence that shelters your view—  Truth! I shall speak you,  If first I am listening to you.

Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,  If I sit with the hush between thunder and dawn,  If I lean into silence and swallow the dew  Of words that arrive before meanings are drawn.If I let you settle, shy bird on my hand,  And hush all my hungers, my hurry, my pride,  Perhaps I could carry your silver command  Across the wide valley where falsehoods reside.But listening—ah, there’s the difficult art:  To stand in your stillness, resist every plea  Of comfort and clamor and fear in my heart,  And open the ear of my soul unto thee.For truth, you are quiet, you wait to be found  By those who grow patient and gentle and clear.  I’ll strive for that habit, to turn every sound  Toward the music you play for the ones who will hear.Then, when my tongue trembles with what I have heard,  May I speak you with courage—unvarnished, unstirred.

{'response': "Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,\nA whisper coiling in the chamber of my ear,\nNot forged in silver tongues, but in the silent dew\nThat falls before the world can interfere.\nTruth, you flicker on the edge of every dawn—\nA slant of light, a shadow's honest line.\nIf I would shape you, I must first be drawn\nTo your quiet, unadorned design.\nSo let me sit with silence, lean into what is real,\nLearn the language of the unspoken, hear what you reveal.\nOnly then, in habit grown, may I hope to tell\nThe truths you’ve shown me, known but never sell.", 'probability': 1.0}

{'response': 'Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,\nLike the hush before thunder, quiet but sure.\nFor words are mere shadows if ears are closed tight,\nAnd honesty falters in the absence of light.\nLet me open my heart to the whisper you bring,\nLike a leaf that will flutter at the touch of the spring.\nIf I cradle your lessons in my everyday tune,\nThen my lips will recall you, clear as the moon.', 'probability': 1.0}

{'response': 'Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,\nLike a robin eavesdropping on the hush of morning dew.\nMy tongue is restless, seeking stories it has gathered,\nBut if my ears are closed, the melody is shattered.\n\nLet me cradle your whispers as wind cradles the leaves,\nLet me hush my cleverness and untangle what it weaves.\nFor only in your presence, in your quiet, trembling tune,\nCan I echo back your honesty and find myself immune.\n\nSo teach me, gentle teacher, to listen before I cry,\nThat my words may not betray you, nor truth itself deny.', 'probability': 1.0}

He looks at me with a madman’s eyes—  A storm contained in shattered blue,  As if the world, in wild disguise,  Had slipped its mask to let him through.  There’s chaos flickering in his gaze,  A trembling spark, a silent scream;  He moves in fractured, fevered ways  As if reality’s a dream.  The room grows close, the air turns thin,  My heartbeat counting every breath—  Yet in that madness lies within  A hunger shadowed by regret.  His eyes, like lanterns in the gloom,  Search corners I can never reach,  Where secrets curl and nightmares bloom,  And hope is far beyond his speech.  Still, something gentle tries to rise—  A fractured mercy, trembling, raw—  He looks at me with a madman’s eyes,  And I see love beyond the law.

He looks at me with a madman’s eyes—  Wild orbs alight with secret storms,  A flicker of thunder behind the guise  Of flesh and bone that barely forms.  His pupils dart like hunted things,  Restless beneath uncertain skies,  And shadows curl like whispered wings  Within the corners of his cries.  I stand transfixed, a silent mark  For madness clothed in brittle grace—  I see the flame, I feel the spark  That dances just behind his face.  Yet in his gaze, some echo stays,  A fractured plea, a hope disguised—  A world undone within his ways,  He looks at me with a madman’s eyes.

He looks at me with a madman’s eyes—  A fevered brightness, wild and stark,  Where reason drowns and silence lies,  And every shadow hides a spark.  His gaze is fractured, sharp and raw,  A mirror cracked by untold grief,  Each glance a question, each pause a flaw,  Unraveling faith, unraveling belief.  I feel his chaos cross the room,  A silent scream that splits the air,  Yet in those depths of haunted gloom  I see a longing, stripped and bare.  He reaches out, though worlds apart,  His stare a maze I cannot chart—  Yet somewhere in that shattered art  He looks for love with a madman’s heart.

Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,
A gentle hush before dawn, a whisper in dew.
How many mornings have I rushed past your call,
Eager for noise, forgetting your steady thrall?

Yet you wait, patient in the hush of my heart,
Unveiling each lie I thought was my art.
Only in silence do I know you are near,
So I turn down the world just to let myself hear.

If I tune to your voice in the cracks of my days,
Maybe my tongue will learn honest ways.
For truth is not spoken by chance or by whim,
But by those who have made you the song they sing within.

Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,
As dawn listens for whispers in the hush before the blue.
Too long I have danced with shadows, feet unsure, tongue tame,
Echoes of honest words flickering, never quite aflame.

But if I press my ear to the quiet where your voice resides,
Unraveling gentle certainties and doubts that wear disguise,
Perhaps my lips would shape you—clear, unburdened, bright,
Woven from the careful patience of giving you my sight.

Truth, I offer stillness, a heart that yearns to hear,
That I may speak you wholly, without shadow, without fear.
Let my habit be the listening that summons you to stay—
Then truth, upon my tongue, will shape the light of day.

Truth! I shall speak you if I am in habit of listening to you,
Not chasing shadows cast by comfort’s fleeting hue.
For whispers of honesty, soft and shy,
Are drowned by the clamor of a convenient lie.

O Truth, you dwell in silence, waiting to be found,
A quiet guest in hearts where reverence is sound.
I learn your cadence, slow and sure and deep,
As rivers learn the bedrock over which they leap.

Let me train my ears to catch your subtle song,
To linger where the brave and humble long.
For only when your echoes fill my soul anew
Will my words, undaunted, ring with what is true.